


A Tale of Love Won

by Susamo



Series: A Knight of Arkon in 1149 [1]
Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Atlan Adventure in time, F/M, The Knight of Arkon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: Atlan da Gonozal, the immortal Arkonide exiled upon the planet named Earth by its inhabitants, must save Britain from the Black Death which the crusaders bring home after the Second Crusade. It is 1149, and after a tournament he took part in he has become famous in Abergavenny at the Welsh border. A friend and squire he has already won for himself, Gromell who was about to be hanged and whose life he saved by fighting the nobleman Surrey of Mowbray, a brutal and unforgiving man who now has become the Arkonide's unrelenting enemy. His self-appointed mission to stop the Plague from spreading has been accomplished, and now he has another goal left to him: he will travel to the north of Britain where the descendants of the crew of an alien ship live, which has crashed two hundred and fifty years before. But he hopes to find another companion to ride with him, Alexandra of Lancaster, the lady he has crowned as the queen of love and beauty at the tournament. To win her he prepares for a sweet hour under a tree. Elsewhere a terrible danger is awakening which he will have to meet, sometime later...
Relationships: Atlan da Gonozal/ Alexandra of Lancaster
Series: A Knight of Arkon in 1149 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938052
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	A Tale of Love Won

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Palatinedreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palatinedreams/gifts).



> The Atlan Adventures in Time, telling of the adventures the immortal Arkonide had upon Earth during his long exile and sojourn there, from about 8.000 years bc. to 2040 ad when he met Perry Rhodan, are somewhat legendary among Perry Rhodan and Atlan fans. Several books, of the so-called Blue Edition, exist and can be read in German as e-books. They contain the stories written by Hanns Kneifel, spanning Atlan's stone age adventures or the ones in Ancient Egypt to fighting in Rome as a gladiator through to adventures during the French Revolution or with helping to build the first space rockets that might bring mankind into the sky, and upon the surface of the moon. One of my favorite ones among them is "The Knight of Arkon", where Hanns Kneifel describes the Arkonde's efforts to stop the plague after the First Crusade, the tournament at Easter at Abergavenny, his fights with Surrey of Mowbray, and how he wins the beautiful Alexandra to ride with him as his mistress and love to the North, where he will meet the descendants of the stellar guests from the Golden Ship.  
> Now, I have read much about the history of Britain one and two generations later, and always have wished to read Kneifel's story set within the time of young Henry II instead of his grandfather. The Arkonide should be confronted with the real politics and real circumstances of the times, and a nice element of fantasy and magic should liven up the scene. After all, we are in Arthur's and Merlin's country! The best candidate for that I found in Patricia Kennealy's Keltiad, where the villain is one Edeyrn, the Marbh-draoi, the Death-Druid fighting the heroes in a space-going version of the Arthurian legend. Transported to the Perry Rhodan universe, Edeyrn offers a lot of potential. The opening scene of the Foretale is taken from "The Oak Above the Kings" by Patricia Kennealy and retold in my own words. The stone mentioned consists of PEW metal, a kind of substance that can preserve a consciousness, a purely energetic entity, which is famous in the Perryverse.
> 
> With the way Atlan goes at wooing Alexandra, I have not changed anything from the story Hanns Kneifel wrote in the book, at least in the part which came before the one I write about. There he is telling her openly and firmly that they would become lovers, treating her not exactly as his equal but as a little barbarian he comes to love, but needs time to appreciate fully and see eye-to-eye with. I am starting at that point and am changing Atlan and Alexandra's relationship and what they are to each other step by step, and deviate from the way Mr. Kneifel described it more and more. In 1971, when Kneifel's book first was published, he did not write a sex scene, but only hinted at it chastely by referring to "the hours under the tree".
> 
> Note: all Arkonides have white hair and red eyes. They are the inhabitants of the Star System of Arkon, the center of an Empire containing about fifty thousand planets and outpost upon moons or star stations. Atlan is immortal because he wears the gift of IT, an all-powerful energetic being, his cellular activator which keeps him young and makes any wound heal swiftly. In this story, to avoid the ceaseless danger for the activator to be stolen, the Arkonide wears the small egg-like gadget implanted beneath the left shoulder instead of carrying it on its chain around his neck. He has a so-called logic sector, also named the extra brain, a kind of internal telepathic adviser always heeding logic and reminding his mental partner of dangers. This logic sector was activated after Atlan had passed the tests of the ARK SUMMIA at his home the Great Star Empire of Arkon, and the activation of a photographic memory was also included. Upon Earth, the Arkonides had built a base at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean, the Dome, where Atlan has passed most of the long time of his lonely exile among barbarians asleep. But from time to time he wakens, for example, when danger is threatening Earth or an alien ship is landing. Then his faithful robot Rico will call him up and equip him with everything he needs for the time and place he will go to, including robotic animals like a falcon or a wolf, or a robot in the shape of a horse which can carry him through the air at need. The gadgets he carries else might include a hypno beamer, or a beamer gun that could burn down a whole village, or a skorge tar which might render him invisible to human eyes. But he must be very careful to use such things and refrain from using them all together but in the direst of need because his little barbarians might become afraid of him and might attack him, believing him to be a devil or a demon. Or, as they did in the olden times, they might think him a Faye, a knight from Faery...

The Knight of Arkon in 1149, 1-A Tale of Love Won  
The Foretale  
Inexorably, a deadly threat to bodies no less than hearts or souls and minds, Torc Truith, the Giant Boar shaped by evil magic was stomping down the battlefield of Nandruidion upon the planet of Tara, the throneworld of the Star Empire known as Keltia. As big as a house or bigger, black as nightmare and accompanied by a shroud of choking mist the Boar of black magic and death bore down upon the host of the Keltoi opposing him, Arthur Pendreic their High King and his bard Taliesin in the fore. Little their magic availed them, for the Death-Druid, the Marbh-draoi, Ruler and tyrant of the Celtic worlds, was born of a High Sidhe queen and had their powers, holding all of Keltia in his thrall. That boar was Edeyrn the Marbh-droi himself, followed by smaller versions of the shape he had summoned for himself by his spells, disciples of his, evil druids no little dangerous even if they were fully human and mortal, which Edeyrn ap Seli Sidhe was neither. 

No mortal man could hunt that boar, prophecy had said. But there was one huntsman who might best him: Gwyn ap Nudd the Sidhe prince, Tanist and heir to the throne of his people, born of the same mother as Edeyrn had been born of her, Seli queen to Nudd the King of the Otherworld. Gwyn was Master of the Faerie Hunt, and if he could be called in time, he would take up this challenge. It was dán, Fate itself, that had been prophesied for these two brothers, that they would face each other upon a battlefield in the end, and that they would fight each other till one of them fell dead-and a great hunt this would be!  
Still, Merlynn the Archdruid and Morgan the High King’s sister, wife of Taliesin, could counter the evil spells raining down upon them like black arrows. Still the Fians and the Dragon Warriors of Keltia, led by their Pendragon, stood firm against the tide of the soldiers of Edeyrn, called the Ravens of battle, fighting what the Marbh-draoi called rebels and what Arthur and his people called the counterinsurgency. Still the battle was not decided yet. But the deadly boars advanced, dropping venom from their bristles, blowing nauseating fog against their enemies.

In desperate need, Arthur drew back a little and reached into the folds of his shirt beneath the bloodied mail. There he bore a simple white piece of cloth, to be used if despair was at its height-and that time had come now. He drew it out and waved it in the air three times. This was the Bratach Ban, the fairy flag, which would summon its host if it was used like this to send out the magical call.

And they came. Out of gathering mist, out of the Otherworld rode the Sidhe, the fairy host of the Tuatha de Danann. They rode through the air upon their shining stallions of war, clad into an aureole of light, down towards the bloodied grass of Nandruidion as if they were riding down the slopes of the wind. The call of Gwyn’s hunting horn urged them on, their master and lord riding in the fore, light burning around him so brightly it would have hurt one’s eyes if one had looked at him directly.

Edeyrn changed shape at the sight of his brother, looking like a handsome and wise man in his later years again, though his age counted by hundreds of evilly spent years. He wore a kind of black aura like a mantle, hemmed by blood-red fire. Gwyn ap Nudd dismounted and stepped forward to face his brother. Like statues they stood, but the battle which had begun to rage between them could not be seen by mortal eyes. Only something like smoke billowing, and fire flickering, and a mighty storm gathering might be perceived by those who stood watching, shivering with anxiety and dread on the one side and wild hope on the other. Hands that held swords sank and fingers left bowstrings while those two immortal brothers fought each other by means humans could not know.

Then something seemed to break, a rift that was felt by everyone upon the battlefield and let them all stagger while some fell to their knees, exhausted from fighting and killing. Edeyrn flinched and stumbled back, and the black aura that had engulfed him wavered and went out, leaving him vulnerable for a moment in time.  
This was the chance Arthur Pendreic had waited and desperately hoped for. He raised Fragarach, the Sword of Light, a gift of King Nudd himself, and charged forward, racing like an unstoppable wave across the short distance upon the bloody battlefield, and reached the Marbh-draoi just as he was recovering his steps and raised his head once more, to face his brother and dàn as it came to him from a mortal hand.

The shining blade fell and struck, just as Edeyrn made the gesture of a magic spell with one hand and a futile warding move with the other. His head flew off and rolled away on the grass, the lips still moving with sorcerous words stilling, the uncanny light of magic conjured dying within the sightless eyes.  
Arthur stood staring down at the headless corpse which was turning into the one of an incredibly old man, looking like a mummy hundreds of years dead, and looked up to face Gwyn ap Nudd.

“It is over”, he sighed. “Thank you, my lord Sidhe. He is gone.”

“Gone he is indeed”, the Shining Sidhe responded, gazing away into the distance. “But over it is not, not yet. For though my brother is gone from this place and time in truth, I sense that he has not passed Death’s door. He only has gone away farther than ever he has done, in time no less than place. I believe that I know which destination he has aimed for, and he seems to have missed it. He has gone somewhere-and somewhen-else, though. Only time will tell us whether he might return to wreak his kind of havoc ever again.”

They looked at each other, the prince of the Shining Folk and the human King, and shivered, both of them. 

“Burn this husk”, Gwyn ap Nudd said shortly and briskly and turned away. “So that my brother’s soul cannot return at least to this. All else lies in the hands of Dán, of Fate itself.”

\+ + + 

The battle at Hastings was ended, and Harold Godwinson lay dead. The land and its people belonged to the Normans now, and William the Bastard had won himself a kingship. The surviving Saxon knights stood dazed, and had been crowded together under heavy Norman guard, their weapons and their chainmail taken, facing captivity and high ransom paid, and slavery for their people. A new dawn would rise, golden in the glory of Norman victory, but before that it would rise blood red as death and defeat of the Saxons.  
In a nameless cave in the cliffside down at the sea, ancient and a place hallowed since time immemorial, upon a crude altar hewn out of the rock a grey stone lay, shaped almost like a sphere. For a moment it shimmered and gave off an uncanny light, glowing bronze and then looking like green crystal. 

But then the light died, and the stone lay grey and inert in the darkness as if nothing had happened. But something had, and more was to come-in time.

\+ + + 

Little Alienor clapped her hands and laughed and hopped around on her short legs in time to the singing of her grandfather, who was the greatest troubadour she knew. She was only four, and her grandfather was old, but already he had taught her many of his songs and poems and had made her love music and dancing and poetry.

“When I’m big I shall have a court full of trobadors and we all shall sing together, papet”, she said to him and he laughed and took her into his arms, to sweep her up and turn around with her.

“You’re a fine little trobairitz yourself already, ma bella felena”, he replied and kissed her. “When you are grown, you shall be the most beautiful and sought-after lady, I promise you. We shall find the best husband for you who knows how to sing and dance and compose a poem, and your sons shall be like him too.”

“Like you, papet!” she said brightly, and William the duke of Aquitaine laughed again and nodded. “Yes, like me then”, he answered and kissed her again.

At the seaside in Scotland, a fisher boy clambered up the cliff to look for seagull’s perches and find their eggs. Five lay already in the bag he had slung across his shoulders, but he wanted more and show his darned brother that he dared what that bully never would dare: to climb up to the witches’ cave and bring a polished stone from there that would give him luck.  
But when he reached the cave at long last and had walked in, his steps faltered as he saw what was in there. The skeletons of several men, very old ones and a few still with hair attached to the skulls lay just beyond the sharp line of sunlight reaching into the dark hollowed space, all around an altar that looked most ancient and which surely was not Christian and dedicated to God. He turned to flee, but his gaze was averted as an odd light suddenly appeared. A grey round stone upon the altar turned into a green glowing most beautiful crystal just before his eyes, and as he walked up to the altar almost drawn against his will, he thought he heard a voice in his head that said disdainfully:

“Another dull peasant creature, how boring. But you will feed me nevertheless and give me your bit of power to let me grow”, and then he cried out in unnameable agony as he felt like he was burning with green fire from inside out.

Suddenly everything became cold and dark. He fell right beside the skeleton of another fisherman and no longer was breathing.

\+ + + 

Resignedly king Louis the seventh of France listened to the sermon abbot Bernard of Clairvaux had prepared just for him and was giving to him now in his private solar, earnestly speaking and hoping to move the king’s conscience and his will. It was about his wife Alienor, again.

She was too easy and licentious with these troveres from the south, she would have them play music the whole evening long to the court and sing poems of the worldly kind, about love instead of any pious songs. She would dress magnificently instead of humbly, wearing robes that revealed too much and were too grand. She, as a woman, dared to give her husband advice of the political kind and about law and how the people should live, proposing that not only the nobles but everyone should bathe at least once a week. Think of serfs and peasants wasting their time for bathing instead of using it for working or going to church! They should better use that time for praying than seeing each other naked and thinking of sin! This would promote vanity rather than cleanliness! Soon the humbler classes would think themselves as good as burghers, and the order of society would become unhinged! 

And now, that new troubadour whom she had called to her from God-knew-where, who was impressing everyone at court and who was sought after by even the harder-headed nobles because he was so far-travelled and knew so much about the strangest lands even beyond the Holy Land. That man looked odd enough with his red eyes and his white hair, though he was young and not old, and might be a devil’s spawn rather than a man from a far-away country! And the way he conducted himself, the opposite of humility and obedience to a man of the church! Those new ideas the queen was coming up with lately must come from him, whispering in her ear when he had been invited to her solar and was singing and playing his harp to her there in private. Only imagine, when abbot Suger had remonstrated with the red-eyed minstrel for his improper conduct and the respect he was lacking for abbots and bishops, the man had calmly responded by quoting the bible in front of the whole court and was said to have prevailed in the argument! A mere troubadour, even if he was born noble, daring to answer back to the abbot of Saint-Denis! What was the morale at the French court coming to, these days? And the Queen had just laughed instead of chided that minstrel, and even he, the king-

Abbot Bernard stopped and took a deep breath and gave King Louis the chance to intervene.

“Abbot Suger has accused all our troubadours of loose conduct and whoring, and even blasphemy in his rage. None of this was true, and if Atlan de Arcon, the minstrel coming from Toulouse-that is no far-away exotic country, please notice, my lord abbot-had not responded, I would have had to do so myself, with all the respect I bear the abbot of Saint-Denis, of course. It simply is not true, and if that were true, I would not condone such behaviour at my court! Abbot Suger was indeed accusing me as the king to allow loose morals at my court, and I do not do that! No, I do not! This red-eyed minstrel sings to my wife in private, granted, but at least three of her ladies in waiting are always present, and two servant boys as well. There never has been unseemly conduct of my wife with a minstrel, and with this red-eyed troubadour not either!”

“Toulouse where he is coming from is a city full of heretics and Cathars!” the abbot of Clairvaux snapped, exasperated.

Stung, the king replied.” He is a Trestelaure, the son of the last lord of Penne, a chevalier and a noble knight, and has been to the Holy Land as a pilgrim and has studied in paynim lands to become a physician! Count Alfonso of Toulouse might be a heretic and is my and my wife’s enemy, but so he is the enemy of this minstrel who could only keep his castle and his lands safe when he gave it all to his sister and had her marry the brother of a Templar knight! A new Templar commanderie is being built now on his lands and upon his instigation. Are those the actions of a heretic, pray, my lord abbot? And as to his songs-even if I do not understand as much about poetry as does my wife, I value the work of men like Cercamon and Marcabru and Jaufre Rudel, and even this Atlan of Arkon! I can vouch for his seemly conduct with my wife, and my wife’s conduct with him. I have them watched all the time, haven’t I? If she wants him to tell her of foreign lands and the customs there, what of it? It is still me who controls my wife, and whom she must obey. Please, reverend abbot, let be of chiding my wife for what she hasn`t done!”

Abbot Bernard’s face was skepticism personified. He knew that on the contrary, it was Eleanor the Queen who was directing her husband by her subtle ways of attraction and insinuating herself into his will and his confidence. But it was true that this irksome new minstrel had not been alone with the Queen, and least of all in her bedchamber. He always had been invited to her solar with others to listen to his songs and his tales as well. The music of his harp was praised throughout the Court of Paris, and his medical knowledge from the Orient was valued highly at the hospital de Dieu, where he had cured several people by now in the time the Queen had granted him to be away from court and her side. There too, he had come to the church’s notice with these outlandish ideas of his. For example, one was to wash one’s hands before one touched an ailing man with this-soap, this concoction of ash and fat, another of those southern indulgences, and one had to do it even after that, and rinse one’s hands with hard liquor as well!  
This man, and these southern troubadours as such, were trouble and had loose morals. No wonder the much too licentious queen, herself from southern Aquitaine, could not care less about abbot Suger’s and his remonstrations. If she had borne a son by now! But she hadn’t even done that, though her husband, who had been brought up to become a monk and only had become the heir to the throne when his brother died, might have his part in that.  
Louis the seventh was afraid of the carnal sin, no matter that he loved his wife and listened to her and insisted on separate bedchambers and mass said every time before he ventured closer to his wife.

Abbot Bernard sighed and took his leave and reflected upon the carnal sin almost to the gates of the cloister.

\+ + + 

“This whole venture should have been about the recapture of Edessa!” The French Queen was furious and cared little that the guardsmen outside the French King’s quarters at Jerusalem might hear her yell at her husband. 

Louis her kingly husband felt full of misery, and it showed on his face. He tried to school his voice to firmness.

“I have made a vow that I would come to Jerusalem, and so I have done”, he replied.

“There would have been time to do so after the capture of Aleppo which my uncle asked you for to help at, Louis! With our troops, we would have succeeded, and Edessa would have fallen to us after that most easily! But no, you must refuse him because you listened to this damned slanderer and felt jealous! Instead of fulfilling the purpose of this crusade you would arrest me and drag me with you to Jerusalem immediately! We failed at Aleppo, we failed at Edessa, and now we have failed to capture Damascus! Why, in the name of Saint Catherine, must we go to Damascus instead of Edessa? The pope himself pointed it out as our target! Why would the wish of darned Baldwin count more for you than what the pope charged you with, husband of mine, can you tell me that? I always get chided for my advising you, and for you listening to me, by our so narrow-minded churchmen. But when it truly counts, my Louis, when it truly counts-you do not listen to me but listen to the worst of advisers instead whose evil talk brings us to ruin. At Antioch, you listened to this eunuch of a Templar, might the devil roast him in hell forever!”

“Thierry de Galeran was a man of the best reputation!” Louis the seventh’s voice rose involuntarily. He had believed the man, might God forgive him, and he still was not sure whether the Templar’s words had not been true anyway. He himself had seen how Raymond of Poitiers, the new king of Antioch, had looked at Alienor, no matter that she was his niece. The Templar had sworn that he had seen Raymond and the French Queen ride away to an outlying garden together, accompanied by no-one, and that the Queen had worn her robe differently when she had come back. He had been sure that she had a love affair going with her own uncle, and had sworn to that too, and he-God forgive him-had believed the man, and still wondered.

“He is no longer a man. After the paynim captured him he was cut to be a eunuch, and since then he has hated women because he can no longer have any in his bed. No matter that he is a Templar and has sworn to live as a monk”, she replied bitterly. “He slandered me, he lied about me, and you still believe him! This crusade is failing because of the frustrations and lies of a eunuch, and for the fears of a king who lives almost as a monk himself!”

“Alienor!” Now Louis’s voice was thundering too. “Beware of language that is not fitting for a Queen but a whore!”

White-faced she stared at him. “That you dare to speak so to me, King Louis of France”, she said softly but in a bitter tone. “That you dare to speak so to me, who am the duchess of Aquitaine in my own name. I have learned to govern a great duchy ever before you learned to govern your realm of no larger size, and I do it better than ever you did, and do! I learned even about strategy and war, matters you still do not know much about, great monk king of France, and surely you know less about warfare than I do, or my uncle whom you think my lover! By the blood of Christ, he is my uncle, and I loved him as such in my childhood, and when I met him again, I was so happy! Why would I sin with him who is such a close relative, when I must live almost as a nun anyway, and have become used to that in my barren queenly bed? Shame on you, Louis, who rejects me and forces me to live as a nun, and still dares to call me a whore!”

Exasperated and full of fury she turned and walked away to her own quarters, and loudly gave the orders that she would see no man this night and the following day, and least of all his majesty of France. Trembling with shame and rage her husband stared after her. He would not forgive this, not for a long time. And still he did not know whether Thierry de Galeran had lied or told the truth.

At this very moment, at the seaside of Scotland, a young huntsman was climbing a precarious path down a cliffside. He had seen his hawk flutter among the rocks, carrying a hare that was too heavy for the bird, and had seen it go to ground in that hole down there. The hawk had been a gift from his elder brother, and she was the best hunter he had ever had, so he would not give her up. The path must be ancient and was crumbling away, but it still enabled the young nobleman to reach the cave and enter it.

The hawk lay on the ground, apparently as dead as the hare was. With bitter regret the young man lifted it and cradled it in his arms, when a glittering light at the back of the cave drew his attention. Walking up through a litter of old bones to the glowing green crystal sphere he wondered which kind of wonder he beheld and took it up to look at the thing closely.

Pain lashed into his head, his mind being drawn into blinding fire and light. The young hunter cried out and fell to his knees, clutching the burning ball to his chest, and fought for breath and the mastery of his body which felt drained of strength all of a sudden. Using the mind techniques his brother had taught him he regained control far enough to subdue the feeling of panic and being burned inside, and looked into the blinding green light consciously with what he had been taught was his inner sight in meditation.

There was-an entity in the crystal, one could not call it otherwise. A voice spoke to the young huntsman in his mind, and it said, with a clearly amused chuckle:” See there, after so long, one man who is different from all the others. And you, like me, are not entirely human-are you not?”

Shocked, but still intrigued, the young man gazed into the crystal and lifted it nearer to his face. The glittering green light filled his entire vision and seemed to draw him into the stone, making him forget that he wore a body and had hands, and arms, and legs. In there was someone who could become a better and closer friend than any he ever had had, he felt, or was made to feel. A better teacher than his brother was, who could make him powerful and great, greater than his brother was, greater still than the king himself…  
When the young hunter left the cave, the crystal safely in his belt pouch, walking with firm and determined steps, there still was a bit of a green glitter in his eyes that reflected the light of the sun and its glow upon the waves.

\+ + + 

The Tale Begins

Anno domini 1149, Tuesday the fifth of April, the day of St. Ethelburga, two days after Easter Sunday  
Abergavenny at the Welsh Border Marshes

Already it seemed to be too late to change track, and neither did he feel like doing that; on the contrary, meeting the girl and getting to know her-even better-appeared as an alluring goal for this day to the Arkonide. The sun burned hot enough, though it was but late morning; a light breeze let the smell of early blossoms spread with an almost head-turning fragrance. Hawthorn and sloe, that smell was; early broom let its honeyed touch waft along as well. Soon meadowsweet would add its blossoms to the harmony.  
Oak, broom, and meadowsweet, he thought, and fleetingly saw the sweet face of the woman in front of his eyes whose body had been materialised from its original state of pure energy , using those flowers as the basic matter. After the attack upon Llew Llaw Gyffes she had been turned into the shape of an owl; since her material form had been a kind of projection and materialisation from the start, it had been enough for Gwydion to make her believe that this was what she should be from now on to have her be it. In fact he had tricked her-her-?, rather a being who was in essence an energetic life-form, and had had no human sex to begin with-into turning herself into that form, and being locked into that then. 

“You are looking for love again, feeling lonely and lost”, the extra sense observed mercilessly. Yes, that was a truth he disliked facing, and thinking of Blodeuwedd was a way to side-track his own mind. 

“Being in Britain again, so near to the place where you have met her first, and other beings like her, stirs your memory. Those beings called themselves the mihi-thelee, the ones who would tarry awhile, and originally were purely energetic lifeforms. They got a liking for projecting and materialising shapes of matter they would then live in, experiencing material life upon a planet the first time. Soon they became the stuff of human myth and legend, beings that inhabited the Otherworld of the Dead or of the Sidhe in human imagination, and sometimes came to visit mortal Earth. Even you as the Guardian and Protector of this world and its inhabitants could not stop them from doing as they would, since they originally came from a parallel universe, if the readings of your robots and machines were correct. But most of them heeded you and accepted the rules you set once they wore material shapes and you had demonstrated the power you could wield with the aid of Arkonath technology. The harm done to your little barbarians, the humans living in nowadays France and Ireland and Britain, could be limited, and healed quickly. You yourself took up the role of a God and a king of the Otherworld those humans believed in at the time to keep them from feeling confused, and afraid, and to make them obey you to their own good. No wonder you remember those events today, at this place. You would feel different if you were at another place, like Palestine, for example”, the logic sector explained. 

True, again. And he had been there, in the Holy Land, and had seen Alienor from afar-and seen her uncle Raymond, who then had become Lord of Antioch. Raymond of Poitiers was rumoured to have had an affair with his own niece, but of course no-one could prove that-well, he knew the truth, having watched through a spybot’s eye. They had loved one another, but as an uncle and his niece, and not as physical lovers. Whether there had been true platonic love at least on Raymond’s part only the man himself knew. 

Atlan smiled wryly. The affair of courtly love, never to be realized physically either, between him and the Queen of the French had been an easy and a light –hearted one, and was often more fun and poetic delight than a real affair of the heart. She had been more of a pupil for him in some respects, and in others a Queen he looked up to in his role as her servant and minstrel as the rules of courtly minne demanded. He and Alienor had but been playing with each other. Gods. She was beautiful still, even now as she was on her way back to France with her husband from the crusade, battered and not at all victorious-but undaunted, she, a thing that could not be said of her husband whom she called a monk, depreciatively. 

But he, the Arkonide thought, had another kind of legacy of that Second Crusade to deal with now. With the returning pilgrims and crusaders, the plague had come to England. The English had no immunity at all against the sickness; if he didn’t do his best to stop the Black Death it would devastate the whole Isle, up to Dal Riata which nowadays was named Scotland; and not even the descendants of the alien travelers of the Golden Ship would be exempt from death and horror. To save them was another goal he had in coming to this island again.

And while he was there, he added somewhat firmly to his thoughts, there was no reason he should not seek some relief from loneliness as he found it and find some personal joy for himself. The lady Alexandra of Lancaster was beautiful indeed; apparently quite intelligent, being able to read and write, which was not a matter of course even among the nobility here and now, and her bearing and the fresh beauty of the girl-young woman very soon, perhaps, if they agreed with each other-promised joy and a bit of happiness indeed for him. Perhaps he could even persuade her to ride with him when he had to leave, a few days hence, on his way north. If he had managed to stop the sickness by then. 

“It won’t be easy to make her do that”, the logic sector warned. “She’s close to her father, as you have learned already, and that one would not allow a loose relationship of his daughter like the one with you, a traveling knight having little and coming from far away, to destroy her possibly bright future married to a well-to-do neighbour. “

Possibly, yes; but he had noticed before that sleeping with a man, especially if he was the first one in her life, made a human woman bind herself to him emotionally, regarding herself being his from then on, and him being hers. At least he had found that to be so now, in patriarchal cultures which were Christian, or Muslim, or Jewish. Though it was pretty much the same with Asian cultures. Well, he would see. If he could make the beautiful Alexandra agree to sleep with him that might also be the way to persuade her to come with him without having to marry her, which was what he couldn’t honestly do, not in the way of Christianity and following the customs of this English-and Welsh-culture here in the borderlands of Gwynedd.

Atlan smiled at himself and the excitement he felt, and his feelings about this girl in general and in particular. He even had begun to feel true yearning for her, not just desire but hope to be loved-if he was not falling in love, then he surely was deeply infatuated with the girl. Hopefully so was she, with him! The way she had been looking back at him as he had given her the wreath of the Queen of beauty and love at the tournament, and after, at the feast-they had not spoken much to each other, but looks and gazes, gestures and the language of the body, had spoken loudly between them. What he had needed to convey he had tried to say. His bold words about love between them, and making love to her, promising her that she would be his, seemed to have shaken her considerably right at the beginning-but they had not deterred her or made her cold. Quite on the contrary-Alexandra of Lancaster seemed to have been impressed! 

Which was what he had intended. He did not have the time to go through all the steps and ritual movements of courtship this culture of humans here and now demanded, kissing a lady’s hand and singing songs of what was called “minne” to her, throwing her longing looks or embracing her boldly, demanding a scarf or a handkerchief or a twig from her hand to wear proudly-he had done that at the tournament at Easter, anyway, following human custom.

But he did not have time or tolerance for more of that ritual dancing around each other of woman and man of higher social status. Neither could he marry her in a Christian church, being neither of that religion nor human. Whatever he would promise her under such conditions would inherently be a lie, and that was against the honour of the Crystal Prince of Arkon.

Still, Alexandra of Lancaster might be a gift of the Arkonath She Huan, the Gods of the Stars he believed in. He would have to find out whether that was true.

The path down the slope into the woods evened out and became well-trodden, crossing the road to the town and going towards the meadow where the fair was being held, close enough to town, castle and abbey and yet set apart, where law was different and joy could be taken, where villeins could feel free for a few hours and buy and sell, and take simple joys like gaming and watching a play and drink heady ale for a time. 

Gromell the fletcher, his squire, had taken the hint and had stayed behind at the abbey and put himself to cleaning and mending his knight’s gear, while the said knight could enjoy free time like a villein could this day and go to see the fair, laugh at a dancing bear and throw a coin to a harper who would most likely play so badly one was glad to move on. That he was safe enough he could be sure of, with his sword by his side and his dagger in his belt.  
And, of course, from Falco the robot hawk’s reconnoitering he knew that the lady Alexandra had gone to the fair too, accompanied by her elderly maid who was there to carry things and see to seemliness.

But that maid had to be lenient anyway, he saw as the booths came into view, and the smell of roasting sausages and bacon permeated the air, vying with the reek of sour ale and of horse piss since the horse monger had taken the first patch at the entrance to the ground.

There was quite a group of young gallants and knights making the rounds and bowing to the ladies, some of them sober still and some of them more inebriated as far as one could see by the postures and the gesturing.

Though the true ladies were not the only female attraction to be stared at today. At the other end of the fair ground, close to concealing bushes and the edge of the wood where the trees stood taller and closer, there was a very colourful tent set up and a man with yellow hose stood there, haggling for the prices men had to pay to enter-and to leave at the back, presumably, though not alone. This was where the lower kind of minne was paid homage to.  
Well, he had no reason to make fun of that, since he was after the same goal, though in a less obvious and coarse manner; and neither was it the only goal he had in mind, courting beautiful Alexandra. In her he hoped to find and win a companion to stay at his side, to go with him and be his love; whether he could win her for such a fate was still in question, evidently.

Alexandra stood at the booth of the jeweller-of course. That one had better wares in fact, not only copper and glass, or bone with brass. The carved combs he had were of true ivory, not just a horse’s bone, and some of them were even inlaid with enamel.

“Fit for a love’s gift, such a comb to hold back a lady’s hair”, the logic sector commented. “And they are dear-for a small Saxon knight’s daughter.”

So they were. Alexandra, very becomingly dressed in a light blue surgown which let peep out the long shirt she wore beneath at hem and sleeves, where stitching showed, was bowing low over the trestle, but did not even dare touch what was on display there. Her father’s lands were not large, and the tenants seemed to be treated well, which meant they were not sucked dry by a hard-hearted steward of the castle, and that the fief-men at the manors weren’t mean either and would not whip a villein bloody if he could not deliver fully to demand. That made for leaner coffers at the castle, though it might secure the true loyalty of the Lancaster subjects.

The jolly young gallants held back from the women perusing wares. First, because they must understand that with jewellery to look at no woman would look at something so common as a man-and a man halfway drunk-and then, would a lady yearning for this and that piece not expect true gallantry and largesse? A small trifle like a ribbon of silk like the lady wore it in her golden-brown braids would have been feasible, but not jewellery like this.

Boldness had impressed the girl before. Without looking left and right the Arkonide strode up to the booth and saw people give way left and right, some of them bowing and greeting him politely, which greetings he gave back easily, and some of them just stepping out of the way and giving room to the winner of the tournament.

“My lady Alexandra, queen of love and beauty.”

Atlan bowed grandly, though not in devotion, and took her hand when she turned, surprised, and offered it almost automatically. The kiss he breathed upon her palm, though, made her blush deeply, and the deep gaze he held her wonderful deep green eyes with was answered by one of her own. 

“Sir Atlan.” She dipped a curtsy and inclined her head, trying to be polite and show manners, and feeling on display with it also in the view of so many, speaking with this red-eyed stranger who so easily dealt with everyone and seemed to be master everywhere, no matter that he was a knight errant and rode with but one servant, his estates, if he had any, far away in Toulouse in the south of France.

He smiled that winning and flashing smile that had captivated her heart at the start when he had looked at her first.

“I see that you are looking at baubles far less beautiful than yourself-but which might please a lady’s eye, nevertheless. “

She smiled back, her blush deepening, but she held up her head bravely and never looked away from these deep red eyes, matching the strange knight gaze for gaze.

“They would be pleasing, yes-but my father’s villeins cannot work for that much.”

A good way to avoid having to say that one was not rich enough to buy such wares, the Arkonide thought, smiling at her. 

“Since you are my queen of love and beauty, lady Alexandra-would you allow me to buy a small trifle for you?”

She held her breath for a moment while the buxom woman behind her cleared her throat disapprovingly. Then she threw back her braids with a swift gesture and dipped another small curtsy.

“A very small trifle, Sir Knight, to remember your gallantry and largesse by.”

Atlan almost grinned. A good way, again, to accept a gift and discourage further intimacy or high-handedness, politely giving thanks and in the same moment declaring this banter to be at an end, speaking of remembrance. Truth or clever keeping to manners and proper behaviour in the witness of others?

“I hope you will remember me by some nice and interesting conversation as well, my lady. Would you like me to tell you of foreign lands? I have been to the Holy Land as others have, and as Sir Stephen has, the son of our noble host. Would you like me to tell you of Jerusalem?”

Alexandra smiled openly now and inclined her head. “Most happily I would like to listen to your tales, Sir Atlan, “she said. “Perhaps if my father invited you to our castle-?”

“I’m afraid that I must travel on to meet the friend I was hoping for to meet”, the Arkonide answered with a little bow. “I cannot stay in Abergavenny for too long and cannot prolong my stay at Lancaster for the same reason. But here and now, today, and tomorrow, we are together and can speak to each other, and listen to each other. Let me give you that trifle I promised you, my lady.”

She inclined her head, having accepted that gift before, and he saw her eyes widen as he picked the best piece from the small rings on display-not the costliest ones of gold or with stones, but the most beautiful, of silver inlaid with enamel, turning it into a small band of green and blue flowers. Smiling he put it around her finger and saw her blush again and take an excited breath. Their eyes met in a kind of conspirative agreement. The choice of gift was a significant one; a small pendant, for example, would have been a proper gift of remembrance.

A ring was not. Too much it resembled the offer of a wedding-ring or a seal-ring one used to mark a letter of deed. It was not quite an engagement, of course; but it was a symbol of promise, had been given in that intent and had been received in that understanding, as much was clear. The aim of that promise could not be doubtful to Alexandra of Lancaster either. The strange knight from France had told her early on after he had chosen her as the queen of the tournament that they would love each other; that she would be his, and that he had chosen her for that reason. Neither had Alexandra of Lancaster blocked his advances, or had avoided him altogether…

“My thanks indeed, Sir Knight. But I have nothing to return the gift with.” She looked up with an uncertain smile from admiring her well-adorned hand.

With another light bow Atlan smiled at her, careful now not to throng her too much in public, not attempting to step up to her even closer or take her hand again.

“A little stroll with me down the river, with the accompaniment of your maid, my lady, would make me truly happy. I would like to tell a tale and hear one of you own if you have such to share.”

She laughed a little, her eyes alight. This strange knight was not only offering to tell her his tales from afar, he also was interested in listening to her-that was not so common, that a man of experience would listen to a maiden of her years and her state.

“If you would take interest in hearing of harvest, games of children in the meadow and one getting lost for an hour, which was the worst of excitement we had last autumn, then you may hear that!”

The red eyes seemed to light up. “Nothing would please me more. Having come from war and brutality, seeing death and destruction every day, to hear of children’s games warms one’s heart.”

She looked at him in wonder, their eyes meeting again for a long gaze. Then Alexandra turned purposefully to her maid.

“Mathilda, let us go to Martin and tell him that we will be away for another hour, and have him water and feed the horses. I will need my mantle also if we go walking in the woods.”

“Yes, mylady.” The maid had lost her aversion to spending time with the strange knight since she explicitly was to accompany them and would get to hear a story from the Holy Land as well, and nothing would be unseemly. These two might look at each other and a hand might get kissed again, well, why not. It would make for some romantic dreaming on her charge’s part, and that was a good thing, for what was youth if a young maiden might not dream of love? But as explicitly the knight from France had said that he would have to leave very soon, in two days’ time. There was nothing, then, to be feared from him, and neither had he made any further advances. The man was seemingly just out for a pleasant hour with a beautiful woman spent in talk, getting a bit of feeling homely comfort-he was a knight errant, and far from home.

The women both curtsied to the knight to leave him in privacy to buy the “small trifle” he had given away as a gift. Politeness demanded that they be not present to know the cost, since he was neither relative nor bound to the lady in any other way.

Swiftly Atlan viewed the wares on display. He had marked where the ladies had stood at first, and how they had bowed over the items. It was not hard to gauge what had roused their interest most. There, to the left side, lay the combs, and nearest to the merchant were two enameled combs of ivory, even fitting well with the design of the ring the Arkonide had given away.

“How much for all three?” he asked the merchant, whose face had come to wear a very devoted smile when he saw the noble customer’s interest for more jewelry and that of the best.

“Seven shillings-a piece”, the man answered with a bow. Atlan raised his brows and smiled ironically. 

“My good man, I have been to Saracen lands and know what the craftsmen ask for such glitter there, and which kind of quality they produce there as well, which cannot be matched by these combs, as nice as they look like. Seven shillings for all of them, you surely mean.”

The man made a face as if he had drunk vinegar.

“Sir Knight, we are not in Saracen lands, but in England. If you want to have jewelry for the price you named, it is you must travel there. But I will pay homage to a pilgrim who has spent his blood in honour of Christ in the Holy Land. Eighteen for them all.”

The Arkonide grinned. “That is a churchman’s discount, my good man. Do I look that monkish?”

“Ah-“ 

The people around, avidly listening and taking the bout of professional haggling for a show of good entertainment, smirked and murmured encouraging words to both contestants.  
“Of course we are not in London either or in Westminster, or York, where the nobles in residence would not even look at your wares since they are used to better, and you would have to sell far cheaper-actually for what they are worth. Ten shillings.”

“Good Sir, you are breaking my heart with the hardness of yours! And you such a far-traveled man, and so generous to ladies! Cannot you be more generous to me and my poor family who will die of hunger if I cannot sell my wares properly? Fifteen shillings!”

Atlan laughed. From the glitter in the merchant’s eyes he saw that the man, too, enjoyed proper haggling; that he was not poor one saw with the four muscular men he had hanging about, guarding him and his valuables, his own paunchy and well-dressed self and the new wagon in good repair. The ring and the combs might be worth about eight or nine shillings in truth. One more round was in order, though not more. Out here in Abergavenny he could not expect the merchants to cut their prices as carefully as they did in larger towns.

“Are you a lady for me to be generous with, my good man?” At that, snickers broke out all over. The on-lookers were having a good time.

“But since I have been in Palestine, and do feel generous indeed on this beautiful day, let me give you twelve shillings, one for each apostle of Christ.”

With a long sigh and a desperate look about him the merchant threw open his arms. 

“What can I say if you bring Christ into a business deal struck at a fair, good Sir Knight? I must comply and sell these combs to you at such a price.”

“And the ring.”

“And the ring, yes, good Sir. Indeed, you must have been to Palestine, Sir Knight, for you haggle like a Saracen!”

At that the gush of laughter rising was on the side of the merchant, but the knight laughed with the people and paid up without further ado. The merchant took his money, having made a deal good enough, though perhaps not as good as counted upon, and the knight in his shining sur-coat of dark green with that wolf’s head stitched on took the combs and put them into his belt-pouch. The people of Abergavenny saw him follow the ladies who had gone on, seemingly indifferent to the hubbub going on at the jeweler’s table.

“Lucky devil”, one of the young men sighed dreamily, looking after the strange knight. “Lady Alexandra is his queen of love and beauty for this day and another one to come. What a shame.”

“Well, Hugh”, another man laughed, clapping the dreamer on the back, “That wolfish devil will be gone in two days, as we all have heard, and then you can try to get to meet your lady again. Or for the first time, because I never have heard you got past the idea of speaking to her father, or at least sending a note to her.”

“Easy thing, Hugh can’t send a note, since he cannot write well enough!”

At that raucous laughter went through the group as the young louts wandered away, in search of another pint of ale, while the merchant allowed himself a little smile of contentment as he put his money away safely. After all, he could not have counted upon selling a few of his best in this rather small town with the gentry not yet having come over from the tournament ground. Tomorrow they would, and tomorrow he would put out gold and silver as well. Perhaps the knight from France, whose motto “écarté-je viens!”was a truly bold one, would buy something even better, if not for this lady, whom he would not see after tomorrow, then for himself or for his own lady he would return to in times to come. Interesting, actually. For a chance-met lady one met but for a few days in all seemliness to buy combs like that-but, well, he had chosen her as the queen of love and beauty. For a knight of such lofty ancestry as this man’s something might be natural what a commoner never would think of; and that the man had given golden coins to the monks of the abbey had become common gossip as well. Twelve shillings might be a pittance for this strange red-eyed man, as finely as he had haggled for them.

Atlan and Alexandra wandered along the riverbank, happily in talk, listening and speaking alternately. The tirewoman followed closed behind, having no reason to disapprove. The knight had taken the lady’s hand now and then, had bowed elegantly to her as he guided her out of the fairground where the retainer had been left with the horses. But all his behaviour was seemly and proper, and no matter that these two smiled at each other ceaselessly now and looked deeply into one another's eyes, nothing could come of that under the circumstances. Yes, Alexandra her chick would have something to dream of for some weeks, though…

The girl had truly thawed to him. She laughed openly at his jokes and listened avidly to the anecdotes he told of the Crusader Army, the caprices of Alienor the queen of France and the rivalry between the Germans and the French, and how the Saracens looked upon them all.

“One cannot believe it here, by the bank of a river running speedily along, where everything is lush and green. But in Anatolia, and later towards the Holy Land, we were stuck between a rocky steppe and the desert. Heat, flies, the stink of thousands of sweating men, and no water to wash, little to drink-my lady, give thanks to God that you never have to pass through such a country under such circumstances. I have been a pilgrim before and went my own peaceful way to the Holy Land, learning the language of the Arabs there and seeing their ways. They dress in light fabric and wear it even to battle, and no Christian knight’s horse can match the speed of an Arab upon his, with all the iron and the armour such a knight and his horse must wear. So, I learned to fight their way-you have seen my curved Saracen sword, I believe, during the tournament-and could save my life more than once that way when we fought the Muslims. This is too where that terrible sickness stems from, from that region of the world and such circumstances of life, and the ones who return to Europe now from the crusade are carrying it with them. To fight that in truth, and save thousands of English lives, I have come to this island. This is the mission I am after, and the errantry I follow, apart from my way to the north. My lady Alexandra, it is not for idle pleasure that I take this journey.”

She had become very solemn and laid her hand upon his. They stopped, looking at each other.

“I know, Sir Atlan de l’Arcon, and I am full of true admiration for your dedication to peace, and the welfare of so many people you do not even know. That is a true Christian and a pilgrim for the sake of Christ, who will fight on the war of Palestine against its terrible aftermath creeping up behind the home comers. You have explained everything so well at the tournament and had everyone drink of your medicine. My father drank, and I, and all our retainers who came with us, even Martin and Mathilde who was afraid to drink that beer at first. We know that you have saved our lives, and Father Abbott has confirmed and supported it all-we know also that you are no evil man, as this Sir Surrey of Mowbray grated, calling you a devil and a sorcerer because of the colour of your eyes. I know and am sure of it. My father said too that new things make people wonder and frighten them, but anyone can see that you healed the ones already sick, and more and more who drank say that other ailments they had are healing also. My father swears that his gout is getting better by the hour. So, Sir Atlan-I have no reason to doubt your good intentions, or the goodness of your character at all. Thank you.”

The way she looked up at him, and the way she had turned up her face to his-it was impossible not to do what came naturally. 

The Arkonide kissed her, gently and almost chastely, and felt her lips open to his as if that was what she had wanted all along, dreamed of all along. Their hands gripped each other’s, very hard, but he could not take the girl into his arms as he would have, and as her heaving bosom suggested she would have liked him to. They parted, and he bowed to her.

“Thank you for your understanding and your thanks, my lady”, he said. She curtsied with eyes lowered, and back they turned to their path, side by side but no longer touching. That they had dared to exchange that kiss was enough, far enough with the maid following them, who nevertheless at least held her peace still.

For some distance they went silently, stealing glances at each other and beginning to smile again, more and more radiantly. Cheerfully Atlan suddenly said:

“Along that curve of the river, behind that copse, there is a nice place to have a little drink and food. I have tethered my horse there, hoping for it to be safe in its hiding-place. Since my falcon and my wolf guard it I doubt any thief would have dared come near.”

She giggled at the expressive gestures he illustrated his meaning with, and exclaimed in delightful surprise as they came around the bend and found a nice little bower made ready under the canopy of a bush in flower, the knight’s mantle laid out in the grass and food and drink set up. Even a harp was at the saddle bag of the black horse that peacefully munched grass, and which he took out of its satchel for the women to see.

“She is a true Celtic harp, fit to fill a king’s hall with her sound”, the knight from Toulouse said. “Her name is Clarsah.”

“You have not shown her when you were at the tournament, or when you were at the feast after”, Alexandra of Lancaster said, deeply impressed by the wonderful harp of quite an ancient style. She must be an heirloom long in the family indeed. 

“That was a time of fighting. This, now, is a time for rejoicing.”

Bidding the lady and her woman sit and taking his place comfortably across the mantle on a convenient stone, he let his fingers run up and down the harp’s strings and began to play, a funny little song of a wayfarer looking for shelter, from the wind first, and the rain after, and finding meager lodging in the leeway of a haystack, holding on to a bundle of straw and wishing to have found better shelter in the arms of a lady in a castle which the wind could not blow away.

The women laughed since the song gave a few hints but stayed seemly enough. A song in the langue d’oc followed, which was the southern French speech from the region this man came from, and whose words were hard to follow. One thing, though, the women were sure of: it was a love song, and from the way the knight was looking at his lovely guest the person it was aimed at could be guessed easily also.

“But you are a minstrel too, Sir Knight!” the tirewoman exclaimed full of surprise and ducked her head, ashamed for having spoken where it was not her place. But the knight bowed to her laughing.

“I am delighted to please you both, my lady, and my good woman”, he said. A joyful dancing tune followed, which made the women clap their hands and hum along.

“Enough of music. The minstrel is hungry and gives way to the physician, who advises the replenishing of a body’s strength”, he said, laid down the harp and took off the cloth from the basket, revealing fresh bread, cheese and grilled sausage.

“It’s cold now, but the inn-keeper promised me that the taste doesn’t lose. We’ll see about that now.”

Serving the women with all the manners one could expect at a knight’s table in hall he had the three of them munch happily soon, and gave a good piece of the sausage to the wolf too, and threw a few bites to the falcon which swooped down from its perch in the tree.

“For a drink I have had the inn-keeper prepare something the Saracens call sherbet”, he explained, opening a flask.

“It is made from fruit, which the landlord only had apples to offer for, but that suffices for his first try, I believe. It contains no alcohol, but has cinnamon in it and cloves, and originally oranges or citrons, which of course cannot be had here and now. Instead I have dared to put in a few drops of vinegar and have found the outcome acceptable-for England or Wales. In the Holy Land, the array of fruit used would consist of several ones, cooled in snow brought by runners from the mountain tops. At least that was the way the Saracens served it to me when I was an honoured guest of an emir, a prince of their kind. The spices had to come from my own medical supply and are few in comparison to what I could have had brewed in Damascus. But here we go-apple sherbet of Wales cooled in the water of the river this morning.”

Alexandra gave a delighted laugh as she received a leather cup and got it filled with that spiced apple brew which gave a wonderful smell and tasted delicious. 

“Sir Atlan, you serve specialities at your table only to be had in the Holy Land else, being your own minstrel and offering as good as one would get anywhere in this land, and the hall is as impressive and wonderful as it could get. I declare myself delighted.”

The Arkonide laughed and bowed in sitting. “Then I am satisfied, my lady.”

The talk during the meal was light and gay, and contained little banter. After the kiss exchanged the knight saw to seemliness, good. The maid was well content.

To serve alcohol and ply a lady with it, making her biddable, would have been coarse and was beneath anything Atlan would have contemplated. But to captivate her with a good meal and music, fascinating stories and enticing surroundings he thought to be the right way to get nearer to her. Now only the maid had to get out of the way, and to get that done he would have to use a trick still. Arrow the robot wolf had a hypno beamer built in; the woman would fall asleep gently and sleep fast, and before that she would have to wander away.

With a signal starting the pre-arranged program the Arkonide started talking again, of the wonders he had seen in Constantinople, and how basileus Manuel Komnenos had protracted the crusaders’ army’s stay, telling funny anecdotes about these events.

Unexpectedly the maid yawned, and then got up smiling, saying that she had to excuse herself for a little time, and wandered away down the path towards the meadow at the wood’s edge. Soft grass would invite her to rest there a little, and then-

Alexandra’s attention was taken by the knight staying with her, telling another funny story about the Jews protesting against a rule to sell pork too near to their quarters, and how the matter had been argued theologically on both sides, both quoting the bible and both believing they were right.

The girl laughed heartily at another show of gestures mimicking an enraged rabbi quibbling with an equally irate prelate of the Christian faith and a Muslim mullah standing by having his fun watching, and Atlan saw that she had let down her guard with him for good. 

“Far off lands are fascinating enough”, he said gently then, offering another cup of apple brew. “But ladies to warm one’s heart in the familiar way of home are to be found only at home or at least back in Europe, be it France or England.”

He gave her a long look and a real warm smile, and took her hand to kiss it, taking his time at it. Her bosom heaved enticingly at that, and her eyes had widened and looked darker with her pupils having widened too.

As had his, he was sure of it. Both of them liked very much what they were seeing. Reaching out he let his fingers gently touch her chin and lift it to his face as he bent over to her, kissing her once more, slowly and with feeling, and the girl responded, her lips seeming to melt to his. 

As gently and carefully he took her into his arms and drew her closer, as close as it was possible with them sitting side by side, and kissed her again, deeper and more passionate, and there too she followed and kissed him back, their breaths becoming short and swift. Gods, she was all he could want right now, the Arkonide thought, having to force himself to proceed gently and lovingly instead of rashly and with too much passion. This was a virgin, not a woman who was used to physical love and passionate embracing. Alexandra might have dreamed of that and might know of it from watching or hearing others, but that it was outside of her own experience as yet he was sure of.

“Alexandra, my queen of love and beauty”, Atlan whispered to her, and drew her nearer to him across the mantle on the ground, taking her into his arms more firmly, and kissed her once more, this kiss becoming a deep and exploring one, no longer chaste or just loving. She stiffened for a moment, and then seemed to melt in his arms, snuggling up closer to him and throwing her own arms around the strange knight who had told her from the start that they would become lovers. Through the layers of clothing both of them wore he could feel the heat of her body, touched the softness of her breast with the firm muscles of his own chest, felt her shiver in his arms as he kissed her another time, his hands running down her back and caressing her gently and yet very enticingly.

“Mathilda”, she gasped as they drew apart, their gazes locked to each other’s.

“Asleep”, he gasped back as he drew her to him even closer, both kneeling now and holding each other as tightly as it was possible. 

Alexandra did not even ask how he knew, and where her maid was. The Arkonide was giving her light kisses down her cheek and at her ear, his lips wandering down to her throat, while his hands deftly opened the strings that closed her bodice. Caressingly he let them run down her sides then, still careful of not touching her most sensitive areas. He must not frighten her out of the passionate mood she was slipping into, and he had to control his own passion and desire rising surprisingly swiftly. She had no experience and did not know what to do with him as other women had done and knew of physical love only what others had told her, if at all.

A little clumsily but determinedly her hands went to his belt circling his waist around his surcoat, and opened it, drawing it away as she lifted her face to his to kiss him too, her eyes closing as their lips touched again, opening to each other’s ever more passionate kisses.

“Oh God, Alexandra”, he whispered to her, his voice becoming raw with passion. But he kept his touches to gentle caresses, teasing and enticing rather than strongly exciting. She knew what they were about, and had consented, had even made advances herself, sealing the promise and proving her agreement. Still he had to be careful with her, and very considerate of her inexperience. That this became more and more difficult surprised him-he surprised himself with the desire and passion and blooming love he felt. Love, once again-oh gods-

“Atlan, my brave knight”, she whispered back and let her hands touch his chest, caressingly sliding downward. Gods, the girl had no idea how ravishing she was, how breathtakingly beautiful, how wonderfully desirable-

It took them only a short time to undress each other of crest-coat, surcoat and sur-cotte, getting off ankle-boots and socks with some laughter and exchanging deep kisses again after when they fell onto the soft mantle in a close embrace, wearing nothing but shirt and hose, and trews in his case, and her long shirt in hers. Opening the strings that kept her bosom covered was done as swiftly, and then Alexandra of Lancaster felt the touch of a man upon her bare breast the first time in her life, which made her tremble and softly moan when that teasing touch became a light kiss and after that a sucking one. She had not known that a man would do that in-in bed, or rather upon a mantle beneath a tree and a flowering bush in a meadow in the woods. Soft shudders were running up and down her body, centering at her breasts and at the middle where there were spots-

“Ohh-“ she moaned softly, shivering now and then as he let his hands slide beneath the white linen to touch her naked body, lovingly fondling her breasts where he breathed light kisses too, and then changing direction as he bent and touched her ankle with such an exciting kiss, and moved upward with his caresses. 

The way his fingers ran along her thighs, stroked her hips and gripped her a little more firmly while he pressed his body to hers, made her tremble again, and sigh as he moved upward once more to kiss her and stroke her breasts a little more strongly. It was impossible to lie still with what he made her feel. Gasping a little Alexandra untied his shirt sleeves and the collar and pulled the stitched shirt from her lover’s body, to see and admire his naked torso, the firm muscles only an active fighter had, and the places where he would feel soft, though his waist and hips still were covered by the hose and the trews he wore beneath, a luxury few high nobles wore and almost no knight, though she knew, of course, what that garment was.

Her wonderful red-eyed lover, so gentle and yet so strong, gasped when she touched his sides and let her hands slide down to his hips, and undid the strings of the breeches to pull them down and see him almost naked as he saw her. 

Those eyes of fire seemed to throw sparks now and were all alight in joy with looking at her, and he shivered too with her touch-that a man would do that Alexandra had not expected either, but it made her feel powerful and strong too. This was indeed a game for two, not just for one with the woman waiting for the man’s pleasure, and then it would be over, and whether she would feel much or not was a matter god decided! No, this was much different from what she had heard of it, from observations happened upon in the stables, or whispered of in the kitchen when the maids thought that she did not hear. She lacked a mother for years now and had not had her to tell what to expect. Mathilda’s blushing hints, always aimed at propriety, had hidden more than explained. But this man was teaching her now, all the same…

Wearing only trews there was little that was still hidden from view or could be hidden with the state Atlan was in by now. The green-eyed girl stared at him wide-eyed, or rather, must wonder how this worked and how she could take him in if she had not ever done so with another man. 

He simply pushed down his trews as well and presented himself to her in full nakedness and glorious arousal. Alexandra’s eyes were wide, but her face showed more fascination than fear. Gentleness would do it.

Lovingly kissing her mouth, gently and slowly letting his hands slide up her thighs once more, he pushed her shirt upwards and deftly relieved her of it. She shivered, looking deeply into his eyes, but she made no move to fight him or to hold him back; but neither did she take any initiative now. 

“You may touch me and see what a man looks and feels like in the heat of love”, he softly said with a sharp smile, and took her hand, simply kissing it, not overwhelming her or taking her as she might have expected him to do. It was hard, awfully hard to hold himself back, literally-but he wanted her to enjoy this, and feel a partner instead of a thing to be taken or done with as a man pleased. As he would go on with her, so he had to do now. A woman of this culture and this time and place got decided on, and often had little say about whom to wed, or whom to be with. Alexandra of Lancaster, though, had been educated better than most and had won some self-assurance only lately with being crowned the queen of the tournament. She should be up to this challenge and demand, that she decide for herself-he did not need an obedient puppet to ride with him, but wanted a lover and a partner, and he believed she could be that if she but learned how.

Carefully and gingerly she reached out, her smile widening into a fascinated one, as she touched him and let her fingers run down his aroused manhood. The Arkonide gasped and could not keep from shivering, but he kept himself perfectly still for now and let her touch him unhindered, explore his testes and letting her caress him a little clumsily, but with some knowledge of what she was seeing, as much was clear. Good. He did not have to explain the matter as such.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his once more, her gaze wide and shimmering, and at that moment he was finally smitten and done for. He could no longer hold back, come what might.

With a groan he reached out for her and laid her down with him at her side, almost covering her, but keeping from holding her down still, beginning to passionately caress her, kissing her deeply and sucking her breasts, his fingers finding their way between her thighs and caressing her there too, exploring her moist depth as much as that was possible with a virgin. She moaned, her eyes widening farther, their gazes locked to each other’s the while.

“Alexandra, beautiful Alexandra”, she heard him whisper to her as he kissed her throat again, with kisses so exciting shivers were running up and down her body once more. His fingers had found her hidden places and were rubbing her there, something she had not expected a man to do either or had not known one could do. But oh, the feelings she got, the sensations she was feeling! This man must have learned more about love than people knew here in England, it seemed, or perhaps it was love as kings and queens and high nobles made it to one another, knowing things others did not and never heard of. Oh, the touches, feeling searing hot and making her shiver and tremble as if with cold at the same time, making one writhe and having to move to the rhythm of his touches, oh-

“Oh my sweet lord, my love, oh- “she whispered, clinging to her white-haired and red-eyed lover who caressed her even more strongly now. She whimpered and writhed, throwing back her head in sudden passion while she perhaps did not know fully what was happening to her. From the gooseflesh appearing on her thighs and her frantic breathing, Atlan knew her to be quite far gone now. Good, because he felt he could no longer wait, and good also because she might feel pleasure now instead of pain, which was the point.

Carefully and with teeth clenched he entered her the little he could without hurting her, and heard her gasp in surprise, though not in fear. She felt him moving against her, knowing at least such movements and their rhythm, having seen them before when she had unexpectedly happened on a maid and a groom in the stables, and had furtively watched what they had done before she had sneaked out again. What would come now she knew, having been told by Mathilda that a woman’s virgin door kept her pristine before marriage and that only her wedded husband might batter down that door and make her a woman in her wedding night. She also knew what the father abbot had preached about, that woman was the daughter of Eve and must atone for the sins of her foremother, and bear children in pain and feel love only when she surrendered herself to her husband and waited for his pleasure, and that pain and submissiveness were part of that bargain of having a lord and a husband and children for a woman.

But this man, this wonderful red-eyed man, who was whispering English and French endearments to her now, caressing her ceaselessly, went about this matter of man and woman so far different from what she had been told to expect. He was waiting for her, as much she understood, and letting her get accustomed to this odd sensation of feeling something hard and –well, big-fill her down there, moving a little there, and making those spots feel so-so excited, prickling, giving her sensations she simply had to respond to, had to move to in the same rhythm as he did. This was what the maid had done down in the stables, and she had to moan with these sensations as the maid had done then, and her beloved knight from Toulouse was gasping as the groom had done it then. 

Oh, Saint Brigid, the feelings she felt, it was almost too much to bear-he was kissing and caressing her ceaselessly, calling her his queen of love and beauty, telling her how beautiful she was, in a husky and almost ragged voice that made tears come to Alexandra’s eyes. She was loved and cherished, she felt, and that together with his caresses-oh, sweet Mary, the way he was rubbing her, she felt she almost could not bear this any longer, she felt as if she would explode any moment-

Groaning she writhed and gasped, moaning his name, softly whimpering in between. The Arkonide knew that now was the time he had to act. 

Suddenly thrusting hard into the young woman’s vale, he split her open, forcefully driving into her, giving her no time to realize what was happening or to stiffen and cramp up.  
The very moment he felt her coming, writhing and crying out, apparently overwhelmed by the sensations she felt and experiencing them for the first time. The pain of being deflowered had been alleviated for her, good. Now to making use of her aftermath, drawing pleasure out for her.

Moaning Alexandra pressed herself to her lover, who had entered her in truth now. There had been pain, yes, but it had drowned in a wave of sensation so huge it had swept that pain away with it, making her writhe and shiver, and now Atlan was deep within her with his hard manhood, moving strongly, filling her to the utmost, making her feel the odd sensations again which she now knew to be pleasure and lust, and love. Oh, how wonderful it was to feel him move like that against her, within her, kissing her breast again, even licking it which made her shiver and tremble again, his body covering hers, his skin touching hers everywhere, shutting out the world and reducing it to his presence, his smell, everything but him-she sobbed softly with feeling that joy, with being touched like that, his hips rubbing her with every thrust of his where his fingers had done it before, making those feelings wake again, making her moan and undulate her hips in rhythm with his, matching him movement for movement. It came easy now like a dance one had learned before and had forgotten, only to remember it again while one went through the steps.

“Alexandra, my queen of joy”, he whispered to her again, kissing her deeply after, then licking her ear which made her writhe with the sudden flash of sensation down to her hard nipples and to her vale and dell where he was moving, rubbing her now with his manhood instead of his fingers, filling her, touching her everywhere and making her feel so much excitement, so much pleasure which rose in waves-

“Ah, ah-my love, oh my sweet love-oh-Atlan, Atlan, oh my love- “she whimpered, straining against him. The Arkonide felt his head almost spinning with excitement and passion, and pleasure rising in mighty waves, every one stronger than the one before it. He had to control himself at least until she was coming once more. She needed to feel pleasure and joy instead of pain and being used as other women of this society did. Natural behaviour and the appreciation of natural joys were being changed into the rigid ideas this religion of Christianity was forcing upon the people; hundreds of years that tendency had spread, becoming more and more restrictive. Islam was far wiser in that regard, though not in others.  
Alexandra cried out, a shattering wave of sensation racing through her, making her writhe and shiver all over, while she felt her lover thrust deeply and strongly into her, swifter and swifter, and then he cried out too, calling her name, something hot and exciting making her even wetter inside than before. She understood. This had been her lover’s semen, his seed that would quicken her womb if god gave them children. Mathilda had explained that very well. Perhaps she would be with child now-but if children came from such joy, and such wonderful sensations she was still shivering from, how could they be sired and received in sin? How could this be sin, which was such a joy only god could give, such love one felt hot all over with, such a wonder that equaled the wonder of every flower opening in spring?

Slowly they relaxed, caressing each other very gently now, kissing and whispering endearments. She dared to reciprocate now, whispering her lover’s name, stroking his body and his face, looking deep into his eyes, and drawing him down to her to have him kiss her again.

Atlan was full of joy and happiness brimming almost over. Alexandra had taken this well, very well, and for him the experience had been wonderful too, no matter that he had had to be careful. For her sake, he could be careful some more without trouble at all. The chance that she would feel bound to him now was a great one; and as hopeful were his prospects of her consenting to go with him. Deeds and experience would convince her better than words. With prolonging this joy of sleeping with each other she might see how delightful being with him could be. 

“Nothing too exotic, Gos athor da Arkon-she likely knows of nothing than lying beneath, or perhaps of being pleasured from behind like the animals do it which she will have seen mating”, the logic sector warned. “Don’t rush her in any way if you want her to feel comfortable with you. And do not forget-eye contact makes for psychic and emotional bonding far better than just feeling pleasure as such does. You have but this one opportunity to bedazzle her in that regard.”

As if he did not know that! But a point on his side was experience, the experience of thousands of human years. If he could not please a woman, then who else could do it better? Admittedly, he was no Khespan an Mathol, who had been a famous and celebrated courtesan at the Crystal palace in his youth, but for human standards his expertise still sufficed, he believed.

With content sighs they lay back in each other’s arms, with the Arkonide lightly and tenderly caressing Alexandra still. The day was warm enough to lie there naked for a little while, and with exerting oneself one was warmer still.

Her beloved knight from Toulouse did not stop being attentive to her but went on with whispering endearments and giving her kisses, slowly now and luxuriously instead of in the heat of love. But he surely had not stopped to be interested and showed her how much he appreciated her, and-

He was hard again, she noticed suddenly, and felt hot all over as if she were blushing with her whole body.  
He laughed when he saw her look and explained gently that many men could do this more than once in a row, especially if they were with a woman as enticing and beautiful as her. If she liked, she could try this out a second time, perhaps in a way a little different.

With that, he got up and sat down again leaning against that convenient boulder, which luckily was perfectly smooth, and invited the young woman to come sit on his lap, facing him. She giggled as she heard that, but when she did it with his help she became almost solemn, listening inwardly for the feelings she might get with his manhood sliding up into her vale, and sighed deeply when she sat down fully, her bosom heaving.

Alexandra had flinched a little at first. Of course, she must be sore still, but gentle arousing should disperse any discomfort she still might be in, and as to that, the width of her pupils suggested excitement and affection enough.

So Atlan simply drew his love-mate to him and kissed her, slowly and thoroughly and luxuriously, at the same time gently taking her hips and giving them a little circular motion, making her knot rub against his body while he flexed his hips, thrusting into her the bit he could without her moving.  
She gasped nonetheless, closing her eyes, and repeated the movement without his help, and went on with it, beginning to moan with his thrusts into her and his hands caressing her breasts and nipples now while he was kissing and licking her throat.

“Oh”, she whispered, “This feels so good-oh, Atlan, my love, my love- “

“Alexandra, sweet Alexandra”, he whispered back, his voice becoming raw again with the excitement and passion he felt, and with the emotion she made him feel as well.  
Holding on to each other, hugging each other close, kissing most passionately, they began to move more strongly, as she learned to move up and down, her knees to his sides and her nipples rubbing against his chest, every touch and move sending shivers down her back concentrating within her vale where she felt his manhood move, filling her and retreating a little, his next thrust yearned for, making her excitement rise when it came, her knot and dell being massaged with the circles of her hips and the flexing of his.  
Their lust and passion rose, fired by desire and joy growing swiftly, making them moan and gasp. Softly speaking her name the Arkonide kissed her throat and her mouth again, and then let go of her a little to be able to caress her breast once more, meeting her eyes and smiling at her breathlessly, a smile she returned as they gazed into each other’s eyes, their world of perception having diminished to contain only themselves and the sensations, the joy they shared.

“Atlan, I feel-I feel like I’ll explode again, very soon now- “she stammered, whimpering and gasping. The way her vale was contracting he knew this to be true, and he smiled sharply, holding her gaze, and lifted her hips a little to let him thrust into her more intensely, his strokes going deeply into her vale while he helped her with the circles of her hips, stimulating her thoroughly all over.

Alexandra came with a shuddering cry, her gaze locked to the intense red one of her lover, and still trembled when he lifted her and drove into her with deep strong thrusts, his climax following hers within a minute with a growl from his throat as their eyes kept holding each other’s. 

She whimpered again with the sensations she felt as he spilled himself into her, and with the way he let his hands run down her back after, kissing her deeply.  
Then they lay in each other’s arms, holding on tight, panting and slowly relaxing, her head on his shoulder and him kissing her brow gently and tenderly, breathing light kisses into her hair.

“Oh, my love”, she sighed, and looked up at him, meeting him gaze for gaze and smile for smile.

“This was wonderful indeed. I do not regret anything.” Which was, coming from a virgin just deflowered despite the custom of her society, a matter which might cost her a good marriage later, a confession of strong commitment indeed.

“Alexandra.” Atlan looked into her eyes very solemnly now. “Come with me when I leave tomorrow. Be mine in truth, for longer, for the time of your life if it so works out. I will be yours, and yours alone, as long as you live and are mine. I give you my word on that. Ride with me and love me and brighten up my life as you brightened up and made wonderful these hours under this tree.”

She smiled a little uncertainly and lightly let her fingers run down his cheek.

“Ride with you, you say. Oh, how gladly I would do that, my beloved brave knight from Toulouse. Yet you do not offer marriage to me-and I well understand why. You would not get my father’s permission, and you know that you cannot stay for the time it would take for him to get to know you, prove to him the titles and perhaps the lands you own, or the villeins and castles answering to your word. You want me to go on your errantry with you, as your lennaun, not your wife. I am grateful to you that you will not lie to me , Atlan of Arkon from Toulouse, offering a marriage on the way to me instead-perhaps you cannot offer that to me either because you are not a Catholic. We are not so far removed from all tidings here at Lancaster or at Abergavenny that we have not heard of the unrest and the fights going on between Aquitaine and the county of Toulouse, and their rivalries with France proper. We also have heard that this is where heresy is practiced, that of the Albigenses or White Fighters, or that of the Cathars, who all in all are said to be exceptionally good people. You, too, do good for others and work hard to save lives at your own expense and cost, and risk to make enemies. I do not know which kind of faith you adhere to exactly, my brave knight from Toulouse, but I have noticed that you were not in church last Sunday though you lodged at the abbey, and must have been received well by the Abbott. Is that it?”

The Arkonide shook his head, astounded at the young woman’s clear thought and logical surmises. “No-at least, not fully. It is true that I cannot take the time to woo you for months, Alexandra; and I cannot hope to convince your father of our match since I cannot bring letters of deed and title in that time either. But I can guarantee to you that I always shall have enough to furnish you with all and everything you might need and wish for, though not a castle to live in and stay there for all our lives, never venturing out again. I am a wanderer, and I have a mission, or more than one, to fulfil. With me you will have but the home I am for you, and you are for me. But together, we will see, and experience so much more than any other man and woman can have who live complacently upon their lands, and never see anything else. Together, we can make the whole world our home.”

She smiled warmly and almost impishly. “And there has spoken the minstrel. What woman might withstand the golden tongue of a minstrel, when he sings his lays of love?”

He kissed her thoroughly, proving his golden tongue to her, and she sighed, shivering a little. “Oh Atlan, nothing I would liefer do than ride with you. But you see-my father will not understand my choice and become your unrelenting enemy. For me to desert him like this, ride away from home without telling him, without asking and getting his permission, will be betrayal in his eyes-and betrayal it is, to follow a lover and elope from home. I understand that you believe that you cannot obtain his consent, and neither do I think you can, under the circumstances- “

She paused, trying to marshal her thoughts.

“Alexandra, I am-different.” The Arkonide spoke very openly to her now. “I do not live as other knights do whom you know of, and neither can I, being a stranger in this land.”

She nodded, her fingers caressing his face again. “The way god has made you, the colour of your hair, the colour of your eyes-perhaps you were forced to leave a bountiful home and a title and lands that would have been yours, in favour of a brother who looked as others do and could not be accused of witchcraft, or dragged before a church tribunal as a sorcerer or devil’s brood or some such thing. Perhaps you were threatened with that by a brother or a cousin who wanted to have what you had, leaving no other way to you but to go away; perhaps you were too avid to learn the secrets of healing and of philosophy and what could be learned in foreign lands to have the church and your count stay unsuspecting of you. That is what I believe to be the most likely tale, seeing what you know, and what use you make of your knowledge. You have not told your own tale yet, and that too has made me think and wonder. I know you well enough and have seen enough of the way you act to know your heart to be pure, and full of good intentions you also act upon. I could not find a better man in all of England, I am convinced of that.”

“Then come with me, Alexandra, my queen of love and beauty! Ride with me as my lennaun for now, and perhaps, later, when you know me better- “ 

“We might marry?” She smiled, kissing him as thoroughly as she knew how, and saw with joy how his eyes lighted up.

“Yet you do not give me your word on that as you gave me your word that you would be mine alone. And perhaps there is reason for that too, when you cannot know what will happen to you up there in the north, whether you will have to fight to the death or find friends in truth, or whether you might get into trouble for what you do and how you look like. Your lennaun is of little consequence and will be let go in almost every case, while your wife might have to share your fate, is it not so?”

Atlan took a deep breath, realizing that his words to Alexandra at the beginning, when he had spoken to her at the feast about them going to become lovers, had made her think a lot about the matter, and that she had found a lot of possibilities that fit the circumstances he presented to her in her knowledge. Gods-she thought him in danger and believed him to wish to protect her, yet he had just seduced her to love and taken her maidenhead, and still she had let that happen-

“Fool, she is in love with you and must have fallen in love quite soon after that memorable feast, if not right then and there! She already has chosen you over all the other men she could think of, even her father, whose chance of marrying her off well she has just knowingly ruined for the sake of spending these hours with you in love-but whether she will choose you over her father also to leave and stay with you is another matter!” the logic sector commented.

“Alexandra, all I can say is-please come with me. Live a happy life full of love with me, seeing the world, helping, and healing people, teaching new things to them and making their lives better and safer. We might travel to the Holy Land to learn new things as peaceful pilgrims, finding friends there as well. I have been received well by many paynim emirs who would not accept a fighting Christian knight as their guest-friend, but had open arms and doors for a travelling physician who was on his way to Isfahan to learn from the pupils of Ibn Sina, the most famous physician in the world of Islam. It is true that with attachments like that, and understanding of the arch-enemy of the church I thus have, my words and actions, like mercy with paynim prisoners of war, have not sat well with most bishops and have not made me many friends among them. It is true that in Toulouse I do not have a family waiting for my return with joy, or a castle waiting for me to accept my orders again.” 

That was indeed true, since he never had had that family, or such a castle. That he had chosen Toulouse as his place of origin with its progressive ways and its wealth, and independence, had been done for those reasons, while he had thought less of heresy within its walls and had but thought of the religious tolerance that spoke of. As well, the family of Trestelaure and the count of Penne were old friends to him indeed, of hundreds of years standing, and it was easy to present himself as their scion.

“What I have with me, and what I am, is what I can offer you now. But I am neither poor nor without means, and you would live a life with every comfort.”

She smiled at him and laid a finger across his lips.

“And if you had nothing but what you brought with you, it still would suffice for the both of us. I know that you paid the monks at the abbey with gold, and did so with the craftsmen of the town, showing the new design for ploughing. My father was most excited with it; I also know that the monks sell those plans for gold again, and that several knights have eagerly taken that sum out of their purses. If you can sell your knowledge from foreign lands like that, we never would want for whatever money can buy, I am sure of that. That is not a matter to worry me.”

With a sigh she took his hand again. “Leaving my father without asking him and without his consent or blessing is. Leaving everything I know behind me and running like a thief is. Betraying my father and cutting his heart and his pride to the bone is. I cannot simply say yes now-not yet. I must think about this. I love you, Atlan, and I believe you know that. I also value the fact that you are honest with me, not promising to me what you cannot keep, though you seem to think that you cannot tell me your tale-yet. What I have seen and heard of you so far, and, Mother Mary, have felt-that makes me believe that you are indeed the best man I could find in all of England, a man who, moreover, does not ask for a dowry or my title or my lands, but asks me for myself as I am, just for who and what I am on my own, not caring for anything else. That too, is something where you are different from every other man and knight I have heard of or spoken with.”

The Arkonide smiled, his eyes alight. He understood her worries and could follow her argument all too well. That she noticed the positive aspects like she did was an exceptionally good sign too. That she thought in so clear a manner was another-Alexandra of Lancaster could become a most fitting partner for him if she went on learning as she must have done before. That she was loyal to her father and hesitated to betray him was another good side of her character.

“I am older than several young ladies of my parish who already have married, being able to bring better dowries to their husbands than I can. My father is poorer than he lets on and will not force more out of our peasants than they can bring, which I am glad for. But with last winter having been harsh our people have little themselves, and with all the other taxes the king has taken from us for his wars against Maude there is little left to us. I always knew that I would have to marry beneath the station my father hopes for and waits for. With you coming to us like this-a miracle of love and joy has happened to me which I never could have hoped for, and I shamelessly took this gift god sent me in you. I knew what I did when I accepted this outing. I knew what I consented to when you did with me-what you did.”

She smiled so joyfully Atlan’s heart soared. There was hope indeed that she would decide to ride with him!

“But I have not counted upon leaving my father and riding away with you as your lennaun, betraying him and all I know to be right, and leave all I know behind me forever. My father will become our enemy with this. All of that is-something I must consider still.”

The Arkonide nodded. “I understand, Alexandra. But believe me-I am up to face such an enemy, and neither will I do any harm to him, no matter how bitterly he might abuse me or even threaten to fight me. Only if he threatens you, I will act, but I will keep that as harmless as possible. For your sake I will count this enemy as a friend nonetheless.”

Smiling she bowed her head and was taken into her lover’s arms with fervour. 

“My love, sweet Alexandra, my queen of love and beauty-think of it and think of it well. But then decide for me, I beg of you! I care for nothing but for you, yourself! I would take you clad only in your shirt!”

With a little smile he added, softly and in a playful tone:” Or even without that.”

She blushed, looking at him, and laughed, cocking her head. “And how, Sir Knight from Toulouse, would you sway my decision if it would swing towards staying with my father?” 

Laughing back and marvelling how her green eyes danced with merriment and joy looking at him he took her into his arms again and laid down with her once more.

“I would do my best to remind you of the advantages of riding with me. And why a shirt is not even necessary.”

Their joining was as sweet as before, perhaps sweeter now that they had spoken to each other, and knew what might be in store for them, and because Alexandra was beginning to get the hang of what they were about. The Arkonide had chosen a conventional way to please her again and was as careful and tender as before. But the young woman dared a little more, and was lively enough, so he too dared to let loose more intensely at the end, to the outcome that they both cried out loudly with passion and pleasure and after lay panting in each other’s arms, spent in truth.

“Started tenderly, ending passionately-the way you like it best”, the logic sector sent, amusedly marking the deep contentment its mental partner was filled with.

“Mmm.” They kissed slowly and languidly, savouring the joy and contentment they felt, and smooched a little in each other’s arms. But then they had to get up and dress, helping each other. Shirts had their uses, after all, they wryly agreed. As warm as the day was, a forest in Britain could not compare to the warmth of the sunlight in more southern lands.

“Does Mathilda still sleep?” Alexandra asked, a little worriedly looking over to the edge of the clearing where down by the trees the figure of the sleeping maid was just discernible, comfortably stretched into the deep grass.

“Yes, but we will have to wake her now”, Atlan sighed, knowing that the sweet tryst with the woman he was already infatuated with was at an end. 

“Let you accept my help with your hair instead.” 

The young woman laughed softly but let her lover comb her hair, helping her braid it at the back, and suddenly he had two combs in his hand which he lovingly put into her hair to hold the braids.

“A little gift for my queen of love and beauty”, he said, and kissed Alexandra gently once more, while she took out one of the combs and looked at it in wonder and delight, and then kissed him back, giving thanks. But best were the sparkle and the joy in her eyes.

“You bought them after I left, to gift me with them! I had so wished for them, but they were too dear for me! Oh, thank you, my love!”

The Arkonide smiled when he saw her so glad and congratulated himself. The gift had been the right one.

When they stood over the maid and looked down at her, seeing the peaceful and serene face of deep sleep upon her still, Alexandra bit her lip.

“She will wake, having rested well, when you touch her”, he said calmly. “Sleeping a little in the grass in the woods during a warm day has not harmed anyone yet.”

The young woman shook her head. “Two things worry me”, she answered, looking up. “Sir Knight, who has planned everything so well and deftly, from preparing a bower for us to nestle in, and a gift to gladden any lady’s heart-you, who are a physician taught among the paynim-have you perhaps put something into my maid’s cup without anyone of us noticing, for her to sleep so long and deeply that you could be sure that we would be undisturbed? And then –seeing Mathilda I wonder about another thing she might notice in time, given that I decide for staying with my father.”

Oh. Yes-knowing they were safe at least from childbirth he had not thought to inform the former virgin of her safety as well. Before sleeping with her that would not have been advisable, either. And of course-having to confess to her father when he was securely away that she no longer was a virgin, and that he must marry her off to someone her dowry was pleasing well enough, of a state lower than he had hoped for, was one thing. But having to confess to the old proud knight that his daughter was with child by a wandering landless knight who had departed already and never would come back was quite another one. Yet she had risked that too-or had she forgotten that risk? 

Atlan smiled a little and bowed. “You honour me with your trust in my abilities, my queen of love”, he murmured with a little irony. “I have to admit that I added one kind of spice more to your maid’s cup, yes.” Of course, he could not admit to the wolf having anything to do with this, and Alexandra was too sharp-minded to take Mathilda’s sleep for coincidence.

“As to your worry of becoming pregnant, which is what you are thinking of, I believe-that, too, I have remedied in advance. There are herbs a man can take before he sleeps with a woman, which will keep him from siring a child that day. That concoction is known to few, but I know it to be of sure working. It would not make me childless forever either.” One could not, of course, explain to a human woman about a contraceptive shot and Arkonath medicine.

She choked, and suddenly she laughed and shook her head. “Slowly I am beginning to understand why the men of the church at Toulouse would not be tolerant with knowledge like this, or a man who can brew what the wisest of wise women in the hidden caves and woods cannot. Oh, Sweet Mary. You truly did your best to protect me and keep harm from me-as far as it was possible-my dear love of my heart.”

Her green eyes shimmered as she kissed the Arkonide again and pressed his hand, hard, and then she let go and turned back to her maid and touched her shoulder. The woman stirred and yawned, and then woke properly and sat up in astonishment.

“But my lady, forgive me! I must have fallen asleep!”

“It is all right, Mathilda. We have not noticed either, being deep in conversation. But now we must leave. “

“Would you perhaps ride with me a little still, my lady Alexandra? Across the meadow for another hour?” Atlan asked, bowing elegantly, and accepting the young woman curtsied, her look full of longing and of bittersweet regret when she looked back at their bower clearly to see for one who knew.

The maid said that Martin would ride with them, and they packed swiftly and went their way. A little harmless talk was all that they would have now-but riding side by side, and seeing each other for a little while yet was a treat also to young lovers, the Arkonide thought wryly, leading his horse and walking with his lady. He had been gifted with her love and her surrender, and his devotion to her could not be less now than her commitment to him. She was a gift of the Gods indeed, and he had to prove himself to be worthy of her.


End file.
